


Earn my trust and be my friend

by Valorez



Category: Fringe, Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, headless horseman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valorez/pseuds/Valorez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grueling deaths in the small town of Sleepy Hollow do not go completely unnoticed in the rest of the world. A small but powerful special FBI-Unit located in Boston hears about the rising number of unsolved crimes. The circumstances are so very suspicious, two of this unit travel to Sleepy Hollow to investigate.<br/>But there they meet their matches: a dedicated officer and a mysterious history professor, hell-bend on making sure they keep the case and it takes a while and some prodding until some kind of truce is achived. Only when Ichabod and Peter are alone can they proof, each is worthy of the other's trust - and maybe more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A visit from Boston

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfiction, so sorry to all out there who feel I took too many liberties with the guys.  
> For the sake of my story, I killed off Katrina and took any romantic feelings towards Olivia from Peter. Sorry Liv.  
> There is no specific timeline where the story starts. So far we are only in pre-slash but I'll get there. Still, the story stands on its own and the (probable) sequel is just that, an addition. Or more closer look at my two favourite guys.

Abbie was pacing through the Archives. From the table to the bookcase and back, on and on. Ichabod watched her for a while without comment, just shaking his head almost imperceptible.

“What shall we do? What do they want. I really wonder…” She kept walking, fluttering her hand agitatedly.

“Lieutenant, if you insist resuming this futile behavior, those boots you keep fawning about will suffer the consequences.”

“You don’t get it, Ichabod, how could you. They are sending some folks from a special FBI-Unit to Sleepy Hollow. You know, those guys are experts, not easily fooled.”

“So what, if they come to realize what we have been privy to for some time now. Either they believe that we face the Apocalypse or they deny the possibility. Either way, it has no bearing for us.”

“No, Ichabod, it’s not that easy. They are called Fringe-Unit and they specialize in the extraordinaire. If they believe, like we do, they will settle in and take the whole research from us. Including all files, artifacts, even your bible and probably lock you up for their own research. And if they think we are nuts, we might as well book another room next to my sister’s in the mental asylum”.

Crane left his place behind the big table, pulled his shirt into proper shape and made to move to intercept the police officer. “Lieutenant, do not jump to conclusions. First, the Bible is mine, buried with me for purposes not jet revealed to us. Furthermore, if those agents are legit and as capable as you suggest, they will easily see in what kind of position we find ourselves. There is no substitute for finding answers in Washingtons Legacy – as will any of your experts come to understand. So let us presume we will find allies and not more opposition than we already face.”

After a moment, Allie gave a curt nod. “You are right. Might as well wait what comes our way now.” And so, the two resumed their perusing of some more files, awaiting the imminent arrival of the so-called experts.

Only two hours later, Captain Irving called them into his office. A man and woman were already seated there and both rose as Ichabod and Allie entered. While introductions were made, the two teams eyed each other wary and tried to gauge the other’s disposition.

“May I introduce Agent Olivia Dunham of Fringe-Division and her partner, consultant Peter Bishop.” Ichabod looked up at the last words, so only one of them was a real agent. And a consultant…

“This is Lieutenant Allie Milles and our .. well… consultant Ichabod Crane”. A slight smile crossed the Captain’s lips after hesitating with Ichabods title. Agent Dunham looked at both of them with keen eyes: “So we both have ‘advisors’ to help us out, I see. Nice to meet you two. And to make it clear from the start, we do not plan to take your workload from you we just got a heads up due to some unusual reports we received from Sleepy Hollow.”

The Captain almost let out a huff, stopping himself in the last moment. Unusual, my ass…

Allie visibly pulled herself together. “Well, we did have some freak cases recently but I am not sure how you could help there. Maybe if you told us what you heared, we could fill in the blanks as far as we know. That way, we could get through this a lot faster without repeating ourselves.” Olivia gave her a cool smile. “Oh, I’d rather you give us the whole story, so that we can eliminate rumors and hear-say from our intel and get a fresh and clean start.”

Peter grinned. His partner would never so easy reveal her knowledge, especially if she suspected their local counterparts planned on withholding certain details. He eyed the so-far silent man standing next to the police officer. He appeared youngish, but had a certain shine in his eyes belying his seeming inexperience. On that note he took in the unsusual outfit, outdated, well tailored and fitting but even the trousers and coat seemed to scream ‘here’s a story’. Peter had been around strangest people long enough to not get blindsided by a nice package. And nice it was, all lean, a trim beard and even fashionable long hair. Or was it?

“Why don’t we start by getting our gear into the hotel?” he offered. “Maybe you can show us there and maybe some of the places mentioned in the reports. After we are settled and have a feel for this place, we could go someplace to eat and talk there. This way, we get to know each other a bit and make it easier to talk.” Olivia nodded and after a short exchange of looks with Crane, Allie agreed, too.

Peter and Olivia were traveling in a big SUV with loads of bags and cases behind the backseats. But there was enough room so Allie joined Olivia in the front while the men took their seats in the back. While Olivia followed Allies directions, Peter tried to start a conversation with Crane. “You do have an unusual name. Ichabod. Any idea about the origins?” Ichabod looked at Peter directly for the first time. He seemed so easy-going, but he would never make the mistake of underestimating someone only based on age and appearance. “The name was gifted to me by my father. He made me known, that several of our forefathers carried that name and I was christened in honor of one of them.” Peters eyebrows rose. Right. This Crane had all the right words, why did they sound so.. strange..?” Icabod caught the look. He knew, he must have said something wrong but he could not – for the life of him – find anything strange in his words. He really should remember to shorten his answers when talking to inquisitive strangers. Looking forward to Allies back, he pretender the talk was finished.

But Peter just got started. Like a hound smelling a trail, he suddenly knew, this consultant was more than just that. He was maybe even part of the story. And interesting, and a riddle. And good looking, something he allowed himself to concede, having learned that sympathy had no gender. One of the things realised while dealing with all kind of creatures in the Fringe Division. So he ignored Cranes body language telling him the talk was over. “My father never had such flowery excuse. He named me Peter because it was a common name and he liked the sound. So did you have trouble in school with your name?”

Icabod was too polite to ignore a question directed at him. This man proved to be as aggravating as Milles tended to be sometimes. Useless inquiries with no logical foundation.. “No, why would I have? We were to study and further our skills and not to dawdle and harass.” Well, in Peters book, this gave more way to questions than in answered them. “So, you were private schooled? Because we had loads of time to ‘dawdle’ and do mischief.” Crane looked at him. What was the man aiming at? What had this to do with headless horsemen? But maybe this was what the Not-Agent had meant by getting to know. Yes, that was it. “Not private, but it was an elite school for boys and our teachers had no qualms using the stick on us if we did not comply or dishonored our parents or the school.” Peter shook his head ruefully. He was lucky to not be born in Britain, obviously. “There were no sticks for us and I am grateful for that.” Before he could launch into another inquiry, Allie interrupted: “We are here. You need some hands to carry your bags in?”

Olivia shook her head. “No, we each have only one, the rest is equipment. That’s gonna stay in the car for now as we might need it at the place of the crimes.” Ally gave a light sigh and led the stairs to the decent if not overly expensive hotel. While the Fringe Agents checked in, Allie and Crane waited in the lobby talking in a hush: “Well, looks like we won’t get out of this so easily. I guess, we have to give them some information.” Crane nodded. “Indeed. I have the impression this Agent and her companion are as bright and observant as we feared. I might be mistaken from just a short exchange but the man appears a good reader of people with experience in life – not in research.” Allie nodded noncommittal. “Same with Agent Dunham. Olivia. She is clever and not an office sitting type. So what do we do?” After a moment’s hesitation and silently consulting his instincts for people, Crane replied “I would support an honest and direct approach. Give them a chance…” “Yes, that would be easier on all of us if you could be honest.” The cool voice had snuck up from behind and belonged to Olivia. She and Peter had returned hearing the last few words of the conversation.

“We do apologize for the hesitation,” Icabod said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “You must understand that we tried the aforementioned honesty with rather unsatisfactory results.” Looking at them he noticed a slight smile on Peters lips. Had he again slipped. But the man made no comment. So, after a short hesitation, he continued: “As you might be aware, the unexplainable has no place in this world of yours and anything not to grasp by your science in to be cast aside as superstition or worse, as a mental aberration.” Now, he had three pairs of eyes on him. Abbie looking slightly pained, the two Fringe Agents in states of astonishment. Peter caught on first: “Our world? Anything you like to share, consultant Icabod?” Oh hell.


	2. Getting to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While checking on the crime scenes in Sleepy Hollow, the two groups try to find common ground. Ichabod and Peter find they have some things in common and some careful shows of trust are displayed.

After a stretch of grumbling the curious agents had agreed to wait for their answers until they were not standing in a place easily overheard. Allie and Crane waited silently for them to return. Wordless the four climbed into the SUV again and drove to the small Diner where Corbin used to have his talks with Abbie or the Priest. After ordering Olivia directed her stare first to Abbie and then lingered on Ichabod. “You might wanna start with what you said earlier.”  
But Allie was the one to answer that. “Don’t get that wrong. What Mr Crane was trying to say was that our world is a science world and he, as an historics experts is more familiar with the might-be or the could have been. He is as normal a person as you and I.” Again, there was a slight smile curving Peters lips. If those two only knew how much their guests were not as normal as it gets…  
Olivia frowned. But she did not contradict. She was used to people not trusting them with their secrets from fear of being called out. And the Officer in front of her was one of those that had been burned before. So she just hummed and changed tactics. “We got some files on people being killed by a single blow to the head,” she started. “The wounds were cauterized and no one was ever apprehended for the crimes. I understand, one was your commanding officer. We also got reports mentioning a rider lacking a head but on closer inspection, those reports were altered later. Why don’t we start with those facts.”  
While Allie tried to explain all that had happened without really involving his or her place in the story all the while remaining as truthful and down-to-earth as possible, Crane took the opportunity to really peruse the two agents. Or agent and consultant. The woman was beautiful in her own rights, long flowing hair and with the same attitude as his companion. Straight forward, to the point with no patience for idle chatter. She would be a formidable adversary should she decide to remove them from the investigation.  
The man, Peter, was something else entirely. He appeared soft around the edges, not in statue of course, being almost as tall as himself. But he radiated friendly interest without seeming intimidating. A dangerous combination if one took into account that he had quickly picked up on Cranes small glitches. Here was a man listening with interest but behind those eyes there was some steel hidden – and probably a keen intellect. For a moment, Cane had the impression the air around Peter was flickering like from too much heat. The next instant it was gone. But Peter had been looking at him during Allies talk and – of course – noticed his slight widening of the eyes.  
“Everything all right, Icabod?” he asked. “You do not mind if I call you that, do you? As it seems, we will work together for some time, I am Peter, as you know, and that’s Olivia over there. And Allie, you don’t mind either, do you?” Allie just shook her head. Crane was glad the second question prohibited him from answering the first. “You may indeed use my given name, Peter.”  
He got another of those smiles in return. Peter had immediately seen through this diversion but did not repeat his inquiry. Thank God for small favors.  
It was almost an hour later when Abbie had finished and given as much answers to Olivias question as she was willing to at the current moment. Peter had been listening to the conversation sending glances to Ichabod every now and then but not interfering in the interview. Ichabod had held his silence most of the time, only filling in small details now and then spending the rest of the time just taking in the body language of the two Fringe Agents.   
“I was wondering what kind of expert you are, Ichabod” Peter turned to him again. “You do not seem the science type like me, or I might be wrong.” It was a question easily answered. “You are correct in your assumption. Though I am well versed in the basics of scientific research so still lies my real expertise in the historical department. I am fluent in several languages, even some extinct ones do not elude me and I have a vast knowledge in historical lore and scripture.” And Ichabod was not boasting – why would he. Peter raised his eyebrows. “Lore and scripture? Do those not contradict each other? And where did you study?” “I’ll have you know that more often than not lore is the embellishment of facts that – at the specific time - were not jet fully understandable. Take the wreath of the gods for example. In historic accounts a thunderstorm was a sign from the gods for being discontent with the dwellers on earth whereas nowadays we came to realize that electricity made those flashes. Still the fact remains, we know by those accounts about weather phenomena at certain times.” Why, Ichabod wondered, did he feel the need to defend himself from this man? He stopped, summoned his equilibrium and resumed less forcefully: “I was made a professor at Oxford and am currently on sabbatical.”  
“I am impressed. My time at MIT was probably shorter and obviously you became professor very early in life. Nevertheless, you are right to not discount stories from facts. And here, we probably need both, your facts – not just the edited version you gave – and everything else you might have heard, encountered or otherwise gathered.”   
Abbie looked over to them both. She had stopped her story when Peter began his questioning, keeping a vary eye on Crane. So far, he had not as badly slipped as she had feared. But it probably was only a matter of time, seeing how the young FBI agent was getting to him so easily. She cleared her throat: “As soon as you proof to us that you are not just around to send us to a mental institution, we might be willing to let you in on some more of the details. But until then, we have told you everything we know.”  
Olivia nodded once. “Fair enough and we got all the basics anyway. How about we visit some of the crime scenes, the church and the barn where Officer Corbin was killed. It’l be light for another hour that should be enough to get a feel.” After agreeing, the four left the diner and drove first to the church where the headless horseman had decapitated the old priest. While Olivia walked around with Abbie, Peter headed to the car and got a silver case out of the bag. Ichabod watched him picking up several unfathomable toys, some beeping, others shining and some even recognizable – like a syringe, gloves and Petri dishes.   
Seeing Crane watching him, Peter explained without being asked: “I wanna do some readings around here, checking for residue of foreign particles and a wide scan of the surroundings – maybe pick up some radiation, thermal or spectral anomalies.” If Crane did not get what he was referring to, he made no comment. He just nodded and followed Peter to the wall where the priest had fallen. Ichabod was surprised to find that Peter made him curious. The man was such a contradiction: Easy going, a scientist with an understanding for the important of tales, a quiet demeanor but straight forward and expertly handling complicated devices. Maybe, Ichabod mused, this man would indeed understand his predicament in disclosing all they had gathered so far. He vowed to give this idea due consideration. But for now, he just watched and followed Peter, as he made his way around the small graveyard, following some of his beeping devices. Until they ended in front of Katrinas gravestone.   
The moment, Peter read the gravestone, he turned around and stared hard into Cranes eyes. “You wanna tell me, why there is a stone with the name of one of your relatives here?” Ichabod hesitated but the gaze did not weaver. “Not really, at least not yet. Suffice to say, I was surprised myself to find it here.” Peter did not appear to believe him. “I got the impression you came from England. And I do not believe in coincidence. Seems you left a big part of the story out, earlier?” Ichabod decided that was no question, rather a statement. So he remained silent. Peter layed his gear carefully at the food of the old grave, rose gracefully and advanced on Ichabod. As he was not willing to give, soon the young scientist invaded his personal space – he was indeed just slightly smaller. “You do realize, that we want to help, right mate? We are not here to arrest you or to discredit you. But to me it seems, you could do with some help and we are your best shot.”  
Crane felt uncomfortable. Apart from Abbie he had not been close to any living person in the last 250 odd years and their hugging had only been a result of immense relief after surviving yet another encounter with the headless horseman. So why then, did he feel like pushing Peter far away at the same time wishing, he could, maybe, seek comfort and human contact with this compelling stranger. Still holding his ground he took a steadying breath and looked back into those inquisitive eyes: “So you said before and as before I require proof as to your agenda. We have placed our trust in someone else before and it almost ended in our untimely demise. Add to that the gruesome and eerie quality of the crimes involved, and you might see our reluctance to be too credulous.” Peter did not move an inch from his proximity und did not flinch as he silently replied: “What would it take to trust us? Me? You want a blood oath or something? Or do you want to see my scars from battling our own demons? Would that suffice, Ichabod? Do you have scars?” Ichabod’s eyes widened a fraction before finally taking a small step back. Oh yes, he did have scars of his own, one from his own death even. Would Peter see the severity of the wound causing it? And was he really contemplating showing them to a virtual stranger? No way in the seven hells of Dante. Or was he? For the second time in 250 years, Crane felt out of his depth, but waking up in the future almost paled to his sudden inappropriate demeanor. He opened his mouth to say… what? But Ichabod was saved from the decision by the women returning. Olivia cast a glance at the two men standing close together and send an inquiring look at her partner. Peter just stepped away causually and turned to the women. “I got some interesting readings here, the scanner went haywire for a time and I recorded everything. I’ll send it to Walter later from the Hotel. For now, I think we got everything we could. How about the second crime scene now?” Icabod was glad to be released from the uncanny spell he had felt himself subjected to and even more glad, Peter had made no mention of the grave. Something to contemplate later in the quiet of his cabin.   
After tinkering with his toys at the barn where Corbin had died and some more superficial words exchanged they parted for the night. While the Fringe-Agents returned to the Hotel, Crane and Allie went to the cabin to hold a council. The discussion got rather heated as both of them were unsure how to proceed. In the end they decided to give the Agents a chance if they showed adequate reactions after seeing the archives. With this resolve, Abbie left Ichabod to his own devices for the night – and to his spinning thoughts about Peter.


	3. Explanations and new Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both sides make their position clear. After some unfriendly words the air is cleared and a working relationship is established. If only all personal problems had been solved in the same way.

After breakfast the next morning, the four met in the station. If they thought it strange to climb into a cellar and a broken through wall to enter the hidden archives, none of them made a comment. Standing in the middle of the room Peter made a slow 360 turn with shining eyes. “Amazing! So much history, so many treasures buried. How ever did you find this place?” “Some contemporary witness had memory of this place and we found it and now use it to be close to our resources while not really leaving the station.” Allie had not outright lied but she had omitted some truth, too. Crane gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Almost, of course Peter had to catch it. But he said nothing, just continued to look around while Olivia opened some files on a table and walked to one side of the room taking everything in. After a while, they all met at the grand table – with the bible prominent lying in the middle of all the clutter. Carefully, Peter picked it up and leafed through a few pages. A moment later, his cursory glances became concentrated. “Strange, I am sure I do not remember those passages from Sunday school…” he muttered. Olivia perked up. “What have you got there?” Peter handed her the old book carefully while Crane and Milles remained silent but watchful. He explained “I had to read this damn book when I was younger and I sure as hell know my psalms. Something is off in there. Where did you get this book?”

Crane stepped forward and took it reverently from Olivia. “It was gifted to me. Before she … ah… died, my late wife presented it to me as a means to … help me find .. my way.” Ichabod berated himself for that explanation. Before she died? Right! Before she was killed by her own coven. And even the finding of ways was stretching the truth quite far. Nevertheless, it was no lie, really. Peter looked at him with a hint of surprise. “Sorry for your loss, Ichabod. She must have been quite religious to own such an amazing piece. Do you know, where she got it?” If Peter was unconvinced, he made to outward sign of it. “Thank you, it was a long time ago and no, she was not religious” more the opposite “but she knew as a history professor I could value the gift as it should be.” Olivia nodded. “You would. Now, as I see we have gone through all the hard evidence at our hands, it’s time for you to fill us in on the things not written down. What is your role in all of this? Why does it all happen in Sleepy Hollow and more important, have you got any idea how bring it to a stop?” There was silence all around for a moment. Allie exchanging again one of her looks with Crane. Finally, she nodded. “Very well, some additional information we have so far gathered. Tell me, Olivia, Peter, how well are you versed in the bible, especially in the part of revelations? Ever heard of the four horsemen of the apocalypse? Or the witnesses?” She got some curious looks from the Fringe Agents. After a short hesitation, Olivia nodded. “Of course, the revelations are more often used as an explanation to do evil than I care to admit. The horsemen are death, war, pestilence and famine if I do remember it correctly. I am not so familiar with the witness part. So, what does that have to do with anything?”

And so Abbie again explained. It was hard to get into detail while leaving the part out where Crane was around 250 years old but she managed somehow. She only mentioned, Crane and the headless horseman were somehow connected and got only separated by a sin eater. Peter noticed the hard lines around Ichabods mouth while mentioning Parish. The man had obviously only helped to severe the bond to kill Ichabod without repercussions. Turning into the horseman of war afterwards explained the anger radiating from the young professor but there was more. There was a deep sorrow and a helpless anger in the eyes, the body language and even Allie seemed to halt several times to get a grip. Or to adjust her story? Peter shook his head, all in due time. They were getting somewhere here, the details could be rooted out later. Still, he wondered what had happened to Ichabod.

In the end, the most amazing part was, that both Fringe Agents never seemed to doubt what had transpired. They believed that Brooks kept on appearing even though he was dead. They believed in the indestructible head and even listened both intently as they got into details about the destiny of the witnesses.

When the tale was done, silence reigned in the room. “If all you say is true,” Peter held up his hand to forestall the outbreak he could see coming from Allie “if it’s true and your conclusions are correct, there is not overly much we can really do. We talk about a prophecy here, all written down and mapped out for almost a seven-year period. Moloch is bent on bringing the Apocalypse to the world and short of killing him – or whatever – there is not a lot we could do. You stopped the first horseman, true, but war is among us and pestilence was around a while back. So, is it just following this book of yours, Ichabod, and stop the next installment of terror from happening?” Ichabod was speechless for a moment, then he burst out with all the ferocity of a warrior: “Is that it, Peter? Oh hell, it’s a prophecy, we can’t do anything, let’s give up? Did we really just go to all this length to face the inevitable? How could we misread your intent so much? I will not stand idly by while the world suffers from a hell it is not prepare to face. I will not, we will not succumb to despair and hold still to be slaughtered. I have fought before and will until my last breath. If you see no merit or success, by all means, saddle your horse and leave us be. There is enough fighting out there, I have no strength left to battle a stranger’s indecisiveness.” He ran out of words.

Peter moved across the room and placed a hand on Ichabods should just to be shaken off with too much force and almost desperate anger. Peter realized his mistake the moment he saw those blazing eyes. So, instead of trying to tough Ichabod again, he just lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Peace, my friend. You got me wrong there…” Ichabod cut in: “You are not my friend.” “I know, but maybe we can change that in the future. For now, just hear me out. First of, I tend to be the Advocatus Diabolus. Olivia is used to me stating the worst, showing the other side of any given medal. I am so used to her reaction it did not cross my mind you would take my words at face value. Rather, I was expecting you, all of you, to contradict me with ideas on how to overcome this prophecy or how to stop Moloch or what other ideas there have been floating around. I never ever intended for you to believe we would give up. We never have and we never will, just like you said, we stop them or they stop us – permanently.”

Ichabod was silent for a long time, staring into Peters eyes. He had seen a bright intelligence in them before and dedication but also softness and a strange warmness. For a moment he had almost believed it had been all just wishful thinking, to find someone to share their burden in the coming battles. But maybe he had been right all along. The way of the people in this century still eluded him more often than he cared to admit. So, what was he to do, to believe? His inner battle was interrupted by Olivia speaking: “I told you Peter, not to fall into the bantering habits you have going with Walter. One of these days, someone will have your head.. oh sorry, bad wording. But Peter is right, there is not a single case we walked away from over the years. Even if we could not close it, we still did everything we could, sometimes paying a heavy price.”

Ichabod nodded slowly. Maybe he had overreacted. But he was tired. Not of the day, of everything. Being mindful of what to say, explaining himself with half-truth, a wayward son, a strange century and on top of that this … this man who was getting to him so easily – without even trying. He turned to Allie.

“I’d like to go home now. I need some time to think and some quiet. Please.” Allie just nodded, turned to the Fringe Agents: “We are leaving now. I’ll get Ichabod home than I’ll drop by your hotel and see if you need anything else from me.” Without further words they left through the hole in the wall. Olivia turned to Peter “What the hell was that for. You should not bait them, they hardly trust us.” Peter shook his head. “They have left out some very important part of the whole story and that goes to show, they do not trust us yet. We have to get to the heart of it before we can start to find a solution. But no, I was not really thinking. And I will apologize to Crane again, make clear where we stand. He is just so, I don’t know, strange.” Olivia cocked her head “Good strange or bad strange?” Peter did not hesitate. “Good. I am sure. But there is a depth in him I feel the need to explore. Something hidden that lures me and my usual reaction was to through a hook – that went down oh so well as you noticed.” He gave a subdued grin. “I noticed. He was almost at your throat.” Peter mumbled something that sounded almost suspiciously like ‘I would not mind’ but Olivia just shook her head and followed him out to return to the hotel.

All the way to the cabin Ichabod was silent. Abbie was driving and kept her questions to herself. Only after they entered the living room did she voice her questions: “Crane, what was that in the archives? I have never seen you so furious. Even if they were leaving, we still got us and nothing has changed. Why this outburst?” Ichabod managed to get the coffee maker going while seriously contemplating her query. “I honestly don’t know. All of a sudden, I felt deceived. Foremost by Peter. I just started to trust him. But by everything else, too. Cheated out of the life promised to me. Cheated out of raising a son, even cheated out of resting next to my wife after a long and happy life. Somehow, Peters words just triggered it, maybe the hopelessness of our course he depicted. Maybe.. oh, I don’t know, the notion even people like this Fringe Division see no way out…” Allie looked at him. “You have been though a lot. And how could we know what Peter was trying to say with his sarcasm. Hard to know people after such a short time. Still, your reaction to Peter’s words exceeds anything you have displayed so far. Why is he getting to you so easily?” Ichabod paced the room with a mug in his hand. Hell if he knew. “He sees. He looks at me and sees right trough to my soul – that’s how it feels anyway. I know he is suspicious of my story so far, but not in a bad way. He just waits for me to acknowledge the truth of my heritage. Of my real history. Maybe he has some ideas already, he listens and catalogues, just like the best of scientist. Or psychologist. And somehow, I feel the desire to be truthful to him. And I see no reason for this feeling. A weaker man would be scared.” He fell silent. After a while came Abbies respond

“Maybe, just maybe, you are lonely and need a like person to talk to. I am your companion, your sister-in-arms so to say. You are not alone but loneliness is a strong emotion. On some level, you and him seem very alike. Clever, listening intently, a desire to get something done, to not back down. If you are a soldier, so is he probably a warrior in his own way. Get to know him, maybe really make him your friend and maybe, you both benefit.”

Ichabod looked at her. “Maybe.”


	4. Some deaths, a plan and challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again the Horseman of War has made his appearance. But this time there are four to battle him. But only two stay for the planning. Along the way, those two end with a challenge and a promise of friendship.

The next day found the four of them in the lobby of the hotel in the morning. The argument of the previous day was not mentioned and the mood was cordial. While they were still planning on how to go about that day, Abbie got a call from the precinct. A fighting had broken out at a garage on the other side of town. Normally that would not have raised any alarms for the police sergeant but the ensuing bloodbath had been labeled suspicious. And so all four of them were headed into the direction, with Olivia riding shotgun once again. While they listened to the police chatter on the radio, none of them talked.   
They indeed found a blood bath on exiting the SUV. Bodies were strewn everywhere but none of them lacked a head. Still, there was so much blood present, it looked more like a slaughter house than a garage. The fight must have been vicious and to the death with six bodies in the proximity. Olivia and Allie switched into investigator mode seamlessly and Crane and Peter trailed behind keeping eyes and ears open. The officer in charge approached them. “There is one boy still alive. He was stabbed in the leg but managed to hide behind some shrubs. He babbles about a man on a horse coming to the garage. Mind you, not the one without head, that part of the rumor seems over, but allegedly, this one had armor and a sword that was glowing. Boy must have hit his head he keeps on about him dismounting, touching one of the helpers in the garage with just tip of that sword and leaving without a word. After that, the helper, Jimmy, went rabid and attacked anyone around. And then the others were doing the same, hitting with wrenches, hammer whatever they got. A real mess, none of them was alive when the first paramedic arrived. Why do they keep on about riders around here. Give me a decent jealous husband any day. Now we have to get boy to the hospital and not only stitch him up but to have his head looked at, too.”   
Allie looked to Ichabod: “You going to talk to the boy?” “On my way, Lieutenant.” Hesitating a fraction he turned to Peter: “You might as well join me.” Looking slightly perplexed but giving to reply, they headed toward where the ambulance still waited. A boy of about twelve sat in the stretcher with a white face and a bandage on his leg. He looked weary as the two men approached. “Really, I will not tell anyone, I just wanna go home now.” Ichabod leaned down a bit to look into the boy’s frightened eyes. “You should know, young man, that we are with a very special police force. We will not discard your account as the result of a sustained head injury.” He got a blank stare for his words. Peter grinned, pushed Ichabod a bit to the side and explained: “what he is trying to say, don’t worry, we believe what you saw. We have seen those things before and it would really, really help if you could tell us all you remember. We promise not to laugh or think you are crazy.” Ichabod had a look about him stating clearly that that was exactly what he had said. Peter could not help it, grinned at the consternated man. Getting serious, he fixed the boy with a stern look. And it worked. His account of the incident was more precise but similar to the officer’s one. A man on a dark horse, armor, a fiery sword and a fight after he left. Ichabod felt sick. He had a suspicion who the man on the horse was or who at least had sent him. Another few souls on the conscious of his son.   
After a thorough search of the premises, after the bodies were brought to the morgue and everyone had left the gruesome scene, only Crane, Allie, Olivia and Peter remained behind. The latter two conducted some of their own readings on the scene while Allie looked at Crane with concern. “It’s not your fault those people are dead, you know. You did not wield the sword. No one forced him to become evil.” She got the famous I-know-that look and a noncommittal grunt. Before she could try again the Fringe Agents returned. They looked tense. Olivia spoke up: “No wonder you get so itchy seeing scenes like this on a regular basis. What the hell did he do that for. None of the dead seems related to your prophecy and the incident was contained to only this premises.” After a moment, Peter replied slowly: “I would guess it was some kind of test-run. Maybe see if toughing one with the weapon is enough to get all of them into a blind rage. That’s the only thing making sense.” Allie and Ichabod agreed after a short consideration. That really made sense. In a twisted way. Ichabod added: “But that also means, the horseman has to be present to start an actual war – or fighting. Which in itself gives way to a slim hope.” Peter looked at him askance. “Mind giving us a hint why this fact is reason for hope, Ichabod?” Nodding, Cane replied: “If we could contain the horseman of War, he would be hard pressed to tough anyone with his sword.” “True enough,” Olivia agreed “But to do that, we first have to find him and then have a way to confine him. So far I have not heard anything that would make this feat possible.”   
Ichabod and Allie exchanged a look. Slowly, the former turned to the two agents. “We might have an idea where maybe the Horseman would be hiding out, at the least where someone who could control him might be found. We could probably try to locate him but… by the time we confronted him, a means to restrain the Horseman should be readily available.”   
Peter looked closely. Again those hard lines around the mouth and sorrow in his eyes. What was the story regarding the back-stabbing sin eater? He would find out and maybe remove some of the sadness in the process. Two birds with one stone, so to speak. Looking at Olivia he noticed her staring at him. But when he did not comment, she turned to the witnesses: “that could be our first time to actually work together. I might have an idea how to contain the horseman without killing him – if that were even possible. In some of our cases, we ran into a material, called amber. It can encompass a person and keep him alive but he will be unable to break it from the inside. We have adapted the material to hold hazardous germs or devices. Maybe we could lure this horseman to some prepared place and detonate a bomb of it in aerosol form.”  
“You will not use a bomb on my….” Crane stopped the sentence as suddenly as he had started it. The horror on Allies face told him how close he had gotten to spilling his own secret. In a desperate effort to salvage his error, he concluded “… hometown with all the people in it.” But Peter was not fooled a second. He had been keeping an eye on Ichabod most of the time and that slip and ensuing save was one more piece of the puzzled called Ichabod. Olivia seemed to not have noticed or chose to ignore the strange outburst. “Of course, it’s not a bomb! It is just an agent in form of a gas. In order to spread it in a certain area quickly we use a small explosive device. There will be no damage, just a loud pop and a predefined space will be locked in amber. Unfortunately, we don’t have the necessary equipment. We can go to Boston and haul it here or ask Walter and Astrid to come out with it.” Peter returned his attention to the conversation at hand. “I vote for one of us going to get the amber and detonater. The other one can start looking for a place to set the trap. The rest has just to think of a way to lure the horseman. Somehow I got a bad feeling hauling Walter over here. And you know, I trust my gut in those things.” Olivia nodded slowly. I’ll talk to Astrid later, get her prepare everything we might need. You wanna go or should I?” Peter hesitated. He was the one who should go see Walter. But he just knew, it was essential to figure out the Ichabod riddle. Essential for the case and if he was honest, essential for him too. What was it that made him want to remove the sorrow from Ichabods eyes? Why did he feel like he had to understand the man? What was this desire to maybe really become friends with this compelling man? And if Peter had learned one thing over the years, it was to follow if his instincts kept kicking him in the gut like this. Like a sledgehammer, really…  
“I’ll stay here and look for a good place. I’m sure Allie and Ichabod have some suggestions to that and we can even try to think of a way to lure the horseman.” Olivia seemed not surprised, only when Abbie suddenly cut in: “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come with you to Boston. You know, I almost went to the FBI and maybe you could give me some insight into what you got at your disposal at your unit there.” Peter smiled inwardly. That made it a lot easier to pry into Ichabods mind. He gave Olivia a look making clear he was all for it. But a moment later he wondered about it. There was no need for Allie to leave Sleepy Hollow even though her explanation was sound. So what was the woman getting at. He had no time to consider as Ichabod spoke up: “Though I do see the merit of your request it would incapacitate me greatly. I would find myself unable to participate in a search or any preparations. I have no means of transport to and from my dwelling, as you know.” Peter looked surprised. “You got no car? Well, can’t you borrow one? Or stay in the city?” Ichabod straightened himself to his full height. “I had neither desire nor opportunity to… “ he halted on seeing Allies expression. “.. manage a car yet.” He finished lamely. Another piece of the puzzle was Peters first thought and the second: “I’ll take you to your place tonight. That way I know where to go and tomorrow I’ll pick you up and we can go hunt for a trap.” Having been outmaneuvered, Ichabod conceded defeat “As you wish.”   
And so, the same evening, Ally and Olivia took the SUV heading to Boston while Peter borrowed Allies car and took Ichabod into the woods to the small cabin at the lake.  
Ichabod felt unsettled. Apart from the Mills sisters and his son there had been no stranger in his dwelling. Peter did not actually comb through his place but his eyes landed everywhere. While he made some coffee, Ichabod had the unsettling feeling of being surveyed. Trying to remember what Allie had said about him maybe needing a friend he tried to relax. Turning to his guest he offered “It’s small but I feel comfortable. Will you take your coffee with any addition?” Peter grinned openly this time. “It has some rustic charm, I grant you that. And no, just black is fine. Don’t you miss some of the modern amenities? A television or even a phone?” Ichabod hesitated. To give himself some time he indicated the sofa for his guest, choosing one of the chairs for himself. Finally he answered: “Neither of those is necessary for my well-being though I was coerced into acquiring a cell. For me, a good book and a warm hearth is all the comfort I could desire.” Peter gave him one of his inquisitive stares but again he just followed the flow of the moment. Give and take that was his plan for now. So it was his round to deliver information about himself – provided Ichabod was even interested in that. But Peter had to try, if he wanted to really get to know him. “For some time, I was all about getting everything I could lay my hands on. Preferable money. And truth be told, I was with some shady people, probably even one of those myself. Most of the running, rebelling and being a pain in the ass was probably due to my father. You see, we had no good relationship, or rather, none at all. Only now, when I started to see all those weird things around me can I start to try to understand him or how he made me into what I am without even trying…” Peter trailed off, caught in some memories for a moment. “Someone said to me, ‘when you have a child, he will follow your example more than your advice’. Maybe you did follow your fathers ways instead of doing what he told you. This could cause a rift at best of times?” Ichabod had spoken softly and again there was this sense of imminent sorrow around him. Peter contemplated him silently for a moment, repeating the words in his mind.   
“Maybe there is a bit of truth in that. My father was always driven, ruthless, a fanatic when it came to his research. Even knowing what might happen, he never thought about backing down. Up to a certain degree, I am probably a product of that. But you sound like you know what you talk about. Did you do as your father told you?”  
The tension lines in Ichabod’s face softened slightly, so Peter was sure, he had the wrong line of inquiry. Nevertheless, he got a humorless smile. “No, I only did what my father wanted of me to a certain degree, resulting finally in my being disavowed. We neither got a chance to reconcile nor was I willing to abide by his rules.  
Silence filled the cabin as each of them followed their thoughts for some time. Finally, Peter gave Ichabod a real smile, rose and took his cup to the sink. “I think, it’s time for me to leave. It was good to get to know you a bit more. Maybe tomorrow night when I take you back here, we could repeat the encounter. I could bring some beer but as I’ll have to drive, there will be no drinking contest involved.”   
Ichabod rose as well. “I am amenable to that suggestion, Peter. As you might have realized, I am foremost a private man nowadays. But Lieutenant Mills suggested I could maybe use a friend not just a companion. I have given her words due consideration – like I always would with her - and agree that some things are mayhap easier to be dealt with if being shared. That said, I hold you in esteem only after a few short days so, consequently… “Ichabod lost his string of thoughts when he was rewarded with a bright smile from Peter. He felt a strange sensation in his chest. But before he could investigate his reaction further, Peter replied “consequently you realized we have enough in common to klick.” Right, he realized immediately that he had lost Crane. “I would rather not ‘klick’ with anyone, thank you very much. But if you imply we might have a common ground to build trust from, I tend to agree.” Relieve washed through Peter, he had not botchered it. Suddenly he remembered his comment from the day before. “So tomorrow night we compare scars to see whose life had been more crazy and to bond, right? I’ll just have to mention, to be fair, I was a mercenary for some time and I can prove it.” Did Ichabod actually blush at his word.   
“You have developed strange customes in this country,” mumbled Crane. But looking at Peter he belatedly realized he had probably been subjected to a hoax. Or not? But his pride kicked in at that moment and his reply was almost a challenge. “I have been a soldier in my own rights and I am rather confident that the injuries I sustained surpass yours by the by.” Especially the scar that remained after being killed by the headless horseman. And there was his strategy. One day to confirm that Peter was trustworthy. If the man passed, explaining the scar was a possible opening for the rest of Crane’s story. He felt the burden of holding back getting more heavy by the minute. The desire to trust this man rising in equal measures. But one more day was all he had to hold it in.   
“I’ll take you up on that challenge, Ichabod. But now, I’ll have to go or I’ll be too tired tomorrow for our work. And if we can’t find a suitable place, Olivia will have my balls for – as you called it – dawdling.” The smile told Ichabod that she probably would not start a vasectomy on Peter. Wordless he replied with a small smile of his own. The first real smile Peter hat seen on him so far and it transformed the man from handsome to outright beautiful. Realizing he was in trouble, Peter nevertheless advanced on Ichabod who again held his ground. Hesitating less than a heartbeat, he put one hand behind Ichabods should the other loosely on his hip pulling him into a short hug. Stepping back he turned and left the cabin without glancing back.   
That night, Ichabod had trouble falling asleep. His mind kept on repeating everything the two had been talking about as well as several things that had not been said with words. The last friend he ever had was now a headless horseman. His son was a rider of the apocalypse. He could not remember when last he had been hugged just for the sake of it. We did he feel so trusting toward Peters, actually looking forward to talk to him again. What was that feeling in his chest after the man had left without a backward glance. Did he care for Peter? How was that even possible, after only two or so days? His heart sped up. Maybe he was under some kind of new spell? But to what end and who would have cast it on him? No, that made no sense whatsoever. In the end, he fell into a restless slumber when the dawn was almost upon him.


	5. Of tunnels and scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Crane and Bishop found a place for their trap.  
> But in the evening, all that is set to the background as two men show their scars

As promised, Peter picked Ichabod up after breakfast at the hotel. Olivia had called early in the morning to confirm they were almost there and that Walter was preparing the requested items. When a not very awake Ichabod climbed into the car next to him, he could not suppress a smile. “Did you have a party after I left last night? It was not that late to appear like a sleepwalker.” Ichabod scoffed at the idea. “Sleep eluded me for some time. I tried to put into context some of the discoveries we made as well as to sort queries from my own mind.” That was close to the truth. Peter threw him an evil grin: “Or you just felt overwhelmed by my hug.” No way would Ichabod leave that sentence standing there. And it came with almost no perceptible hesitation: “Your temerity is astounding. We are faced with the apocalypse and you are fishing for compliments, Peter?” It was obvious, Crane wanted to say more so Peter broke in before he found a way to change the subject to something serious. “Compliment, really? It never crossed my mind but now that you mentioned it..” Ichabod just stared at him. Finally he averted his eyes to the front of the car and resumed speaking: “As I was just trying to say, I think I found a place to set up our trap for the Horseman of war. In those tunnels running throughout town there are a few places secluded but still accessible enough and with the right bait and some preparations one of those chambers could hold your amber.” “And no one would be in any kind of danger – as you might fear – for the ignition of our small bomb would be underground. That’s actually a pretty good idea you had there.” Crane refrained from telling him that this was exactly the place where they already had lost one of the riders to their enemies. That was history.   
In the next hours the two men explored the various tunnels and caves. They talked about ordinary things and Crane even confirmed that he had the same ability as Agent Dunham, the photographic memory – useful in so many ways. And he got the idea, that Peter was a very special person, fiercely independent but still learning to care for a father he had hated for so long. This was a man he understood on so many levels, who he could respect and yes, call friend. But what would happen if Ichabod told his story. He admonished himself to not trust too soon, not invest too much – again.   
Finally they agreed on a place where to set up the trap. A chamber at the dead end of the tunnels almost outside of the town boundaries. The rest of the day was spent hauling cables there, as well as drawing a crude map for Allie and Olivia when they returned sometime the next day. After hours in the dark and damp tunnels, Peter and Ichabod finally sat down on some crates near one of the exits. Peter had been curious the whole day but held his tongue until now. “Tell me Ichabod, we have prepared as much as we can. The rest is up to the girls, but the main question remains, how the hell are we going to get the horseman in here? We can hardly ask him in a nice way to follow us – please. Any ideas in the proceedings, oh wise historian?”  
Ichabod was exhausted. First, rarely any sleep and then a day climbing over fallen rocks and through tight tunnels all the time being careful to not stumble – neither figurative nor literal. He cast a weary eye at Peter who sat there all smiles and innocent demeanor. Very suspicious, that one. “Indeed, I do have some ideas about that part of our problem, oh inquisitive scientist. But I would prefer to keep them to myself for some more time to ascertain they have any merit.” And to wait for tonight where he would first ascertain if Peter did merit his trust…  
Peter gave a long suffering sigh but his smile stayed in place. “Fine. So, let’s quit for tonight. I so need a shower… which reminds me. You have anything like that in your cabin? If not, you’ll have to come to the hotel with me while I shower and change. There’s no sense in driving you out, back here and return.” “I am a historian, not some barbarian. Of course I can accommodate your desire to get clean. But I see some hindrance in the proceeding. Most of my garb is at the ‘dry cleaning’ at present so I could not provide you with adequate change.” There was that incredulous tone of voice Ichebod used when he felt he was riled for his ‘being old-fashioned’, Peter noticed it right away. He pretended to not have noticed the cooling in the atmosphere: “that’s easy enough, we’ll just stop by the hotel, I get some clothes, oh and stop at the liquer shop for that beer and maybe some takeaway dinner. After that I’ll get you to the cabin. That way, you’ll not have to wait for me and we even got food and drinks at hand for our men’s night.”  
If Ichabod held any reservations for the plans, he did not let on. “A good plan, Peter. Only, I would rather have some nice Gin than that beer – a beverage I have never gotten the taste for.” Peter just lifted a shoulder: “Whatever’s your poison.” “I see no need in drinking poison in order to have a good evening. The result would definitely negate the benefits.. “ Peter just rolled his eyes. “You have to work on your idioms, Ichabod. Anyway, let’s go.”   
They reached the cabin as the sun was just sinking beyond the horizon. They had a wonderful view of the lake covered in the last rays of bright red and orange. But both of them felt a day’s worth of grime on them. While Peter went into the small bathroom, Ichabod started a fire in the old stove in the kitchen. Placing the content of the dishes in a pan he slowly let the dinner heat.   
When Peter came out a few minutes later, still dripping and wearing only jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt with no socks or boots, Ichabod raised a questioning eyebrow. “What?” Peter asked ostensible defensive. “Did you really think I would show off my scars without suspense and explanations to each of them? Oh no, I am not that easy a guy.” Again this boyish grin that made Ichabod all hurt in his chest. Still, he caught himself and replied easily “No Peter, rather I expected you to take longer and to put on your whole attire. In fact, I feel relieved to see you feel comfortable in my abode.”  
Peter stepped around the counter and entered the kitchen closing in on Ichabod. As usual the man did not back down. “It would be rude as a guest to use up all the warm water. And I must admit, after the initial surprise I find your place rather charming. Oh, and it has a great view…” As Peter never stopped looking into his eyes, Ichabod was bewildered. The comment seemed random at the least. Only after Peter suddenly turned around and headed for his place on the sofa did realization hit him. The view… Was this man making advances on him? Was that even legal? Never had Ichabod felt more like an interloper in this world than at this moment. Choosing to ignore the fact that his world had just more or less tilted on its axis, Ichabod casually moved to the bathroom. “Would you keep an eye on our dinner while I attempt to present a decent appearance.” Only because he paid close attention did he catch the reply. “You always do.” So Ichabod was right. He had indeed been subjected to Peter’s charms. Standing under the lukewarm water in the shower, a luxury for him, really, Ichabod contemplated how to go about this new development. He was trying to advance to a friendship. But what was Peter up to? He had started that impending scar – competition. Should Ichabod recede from his challenge? But that would also entail two consequences. One, he would not have the opening he needed to tell his story. Second, he would probably lose the chance to… what? Learn something? Feel something after the void of his existence recently? Understand that strange feeling in his breast? Maybe all. Or maybe it was just the other way around. If his deductions proved incorrect, how would that interfere with the group’s handling of the approaching apocalypse.   
Too soon to reach a conclusion, the water ran cold. From a chest in the corner he pulled one of those infamous jeans Allie had him try on and chose a simple button down shirt with short sleeves. Even though he felt almost naked, he forwent his shoes and stepped into the living room.   
Peter froze in the process of laying the table. He stared at Ichabod as if he had seen a ghost. Wide eyed he stared at Ichabod and finally swore “Holy shit..” “I do presume you do not refer to my choice of dress, Abbie insisted that I could show myself in public like that…?” Peter looked him up and down unashamed. “Oh no, you look great, really, she was right. It’s just… eh… you suddenly look more real and less real.” Ichabod just waited. “You know, more real, like you suddenly live in this century and less so as your body seems out of sync without your old coat and the rest of your stuff. You know, like when I pretended to be a scientist where in truth I was more of an imposter. I don’t mean that you are an imposter, just not really the one you present to the world.. and I am rambling, am I?” This time it was Ichabod who gave the small smile. “No, I see what you try to tell me. And you are right. But should we not start the evening by having dinner? After that, I have a competition to win.”   
Peter felt like he had lost his equilibrium. The man that had left the bathroom was so very different from the man who had entered. Long hair plastered wet around the head, eyes shining with some inner light the whole package encased in some tight jeans and a shirt open at the throat. How the hell was he going to carry a meaningful conversation when he suddenly entertained several rather fanciful and less meaningful ideas what he would like to do to this apparition. What had he said? Oh right. “Dinner it is. And it looks like I win the first part of our competition. I know for a fact that I have more scars on my arms than you have.” Crane gave him some unreadable look but turned and went for the food still on the oven. They divided dinner between them all the while recounting – again – the pros and cons of the place they had chosen for a trap.   
Together they brought the dishes to the kitchen and each one grabbed a glass of gin and returned to the living area. But instead of sitting down, Peter placed his drink on the table and stepped in front of Ichabod. This time he remained barely outside the other man’s personal space. “As you have already shown your arms around and I see no noticeable blemish there, I’ll take the first turn.” And without further hesitation, he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it at the sofa. Cane did not flinch, nor did he step back only his eyes lowered to Peters’ chest. Peter lifted his arms over his head and spun slowly around, giving Ichabod ample time to look. Finally he stopped and indicated his shoulder. “This was a stab wound where a throwing knife aimed for my heart landed. This slash was made by some madman who had some kind of scissors attached to his fingernails. When he tried to grab me, he sliced me open almost 5 inches long. Peter turned around presenting his back. The topmost was a shot. Some guy tried to stop me from sneaking away with some condemning material. And below that, that’s from a shot that ricochet off my truck while hiding from some mercs in Teheran.” Peter returned to his place in front of Ichabod. The man remained motionless but his eyes kept following where Peter indicated. Almost like in trance, Ichabod lifted his hand and carefully placed only the tip of one finger to a patch of skin beneath Peters left pectoral. To Peter, the contact felt like someone had set his skin on fire. Immediately goose bumps started all over his upper body, really embarrassing. But he held perfectly still, looking at a mesmerized Ichabod and said in a very soft voice: “From a kind of electrode used in shock therapy. I was subjected to some tests and the energy was too strong. The skin burned away.”  
Lightly Ichabod touched the matching patch of skin on the right side of Peter’s side. In an equally soft voice he replied: “Your body is the recording of your life. A collection of stories and events on a canvas made of skin.” He hesitated but then continued. “Oh Peter, I had my share of stories perpetuated into my book of life, too. But you will see, my story has a different ending all together.” Peter still felt Ichabods hand on the skin at his side, rendering him almost unable to move. But his brain was in overdrive. Something was off, something was going to happen – soon. Ichabod was preparing him for something and he had no clue as for what. And he was not sure he wanted to know right now. He wished he could stop time right at this pivotal moment, connected to the man he probably was falling for. This moment where everything was in the balance, where all the cards were dealt and it was Ichabod who would make the final decision. But of course, the moment passed.   
Slowly, Ichabod took his hand back but he made no move to have more space between them. When he lifted his hands to undo the first button on his shirt, Peter noticed that Ichabod’s fingers were slightly shaking. So he moved forward slowly, giving Ichabod time to retreat if he wanted. When the man just lifted his gaze, Peter placed his hands carefully over Ichabod’s. But instead of pushing them away the historian let his hands fall to his side. Peter took the invitation as what it was and slowly undid the first button. He felt the tension beneath his fingers when he moved to the second button and by the third, Ichabod seemed to have stopped breathing. For a moment Peter wondered whether it was due to a man opening the shirt or for some unknown source beneath the clothing. But even if he had wanted, there was no way he was stopping now. And so, with each button more skin was revealed. When Peter reached the place where shirt went into trouser he just stopped and glanced to Ichabod. Again, he was not stopped as he pulled the shirt out and undid the last two fastenings.   
Almost reverently Peter placed his hands on each side of the shirt and pulled it open – all the while looking into Ichabod’s eyes. If Crane had been a lesser man, he would have bolted. He felt so many things at the same time it was like a tidal wave closing over him stopping him from drawing breath. The heat, emanating from Peters hands where they accidentally touched his skin. A deep rooted fear of what Peter would think of the scar on him, a fear of the following questions and his own confession. And most of all the agonizing fear of what was happening to him, to his heart, to his senses and desires. All of them screamed at him full force - but the moment Peter pushed the shirt from his shoulders and it fell to the ground a loud and booming silence encompassed him. It was done.   
Peter looked at the chest of the man standing immobile before him. It took him some time and a stern reprimand from his conscience to really see what was presented to him. A grueling scar ran from Ichabod’s left shoulder all the way across his chest and down until it vanished where the jeans started. The scar tissue on both sides of the cut – for it could only be that – extended several inches from where the wound had been stitched. But not carefully pulled together but crude and with wide gaps where more scar tissue had grown. Almost like what you saw on an autopsy table. The skin was pink and healed but the sheer length of the wound was incredible. Peter could not help himself, tenderly he placed his hand in the middle of Ichabod’s chest – the skin was warm under his fingers.  
“How in the name of all the saints did you survive that?” He whispered. For a moment, Crane did not reply then he lifted his hand and placed it atop Peter’s. “I did not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a temporary end.   
> I will let them explore and explain later - but for now I just enjoy the view and the careful approach.


End file.
